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If his goal was intimidation, it worked. My composure began to wane under the power of his intense stare. I looked around for a lifeline, any excuse to walk away, and my rescue came in the form of the woman in white. Over his shoulder, I spotted her heading in our direction and turned to leave.
“Wait.” Though barely a whisper, the singular word carried a force that stopped me in my tracks. Conscious that there were people watching him closely, I turned back to face him and tried to remain as inscrutable as possible.
“What did Marcus say to you that made you blush?” The pretense of indifference in his blank stare did nothing to mask the anger in his voice. I watched ‘miss blue eyes’ push past some of the traders that tried, without success, to catch her attention.
“I can’t remember. Can I get you anything else?”
He sighed deeply, annoyed to be disobeyed certainly. “Since you won’t answer that question, I have another––did you enjoy watching me fuck Paisley that night in the library?”
There was a buzzing sound in my ear, followed immediately by the harsh hammering of my heart. My mind locked up. I drew a perfect blank trying to process what he had said to me. And when it rebooted, a scalding heat rose swiftly from my toes to my hairline. I couldn’t produce a syllable if my life depended on it.
“There you are,” the blue-eyed woman cooed. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” She placed her hand on his bicep and his jaw tightened imperceptibly.
“Caroline, it’s good to see you. How was New York?”
“Sugar––didn’t you break the 100 freestyle record as a freshman at UT?”
Both their heads turned in the direction of Mrs. Redman’s voice.
“The butterfly,” Sebastian replied casually.
Paisley, eyes wide in triumph, turned to Mrs. Redman and shrieked, “I told you, Diana.” But Mrs. Redman’s attention was elsewhere, trained on me with a look on her face I had seen before on her son.
Humiliation made me cower and shrink. I don’t know how I got my legs to work. All I know is that I felt myself automatically retreating backwards, away from her unwanted interest. Sebastian didn’t spare me another glance. He continued to speak amicably with the woman in the white dress as if nothing of great consequence had just occurred.
Left alone to struggle with my disturbed thoughts, I backed out of the scene, made myself small, and disappeared. Any warmth I felt for him died a quick and sudden death that moment. My healthy pride wilted for the first time in years. And a small bud of resentment blossomed in my heart.
* * *
Dinner was served at 8:30 in the dining room. Hanging from a ceiling painted with clouds and flying cherubs, the massive chandelier was dimly lit, casting a romantic glow about the room. Tall, silver candlesticks dotted the hand-embroidered white linen tablecloth. Low arrangements of spring flowers, including bright pink peonies and white hydrangeas from the garden, separated a dining table as long as a runway, and glints of candlelight bounced off the angles of fine cut crystal glasses.
The room was filled with the sound of enjoyable company, cheerful laughter and the low buzz of conversation. The staff stood to the side as each delectable course was served and removed for the next one.
The conversation flowed as easily as the expensive vintage. Although Sebastian hadn’t said much. He sat at the head of the table, a sullen king slouching in his chair with his head resting on the triangle of his index finger and thumb. I caught him staring at me more than once, but his gaze darted back to the tablecloth or the glass he was holding when our eyes met.
I was seething with anger. What kind of man took pleasure in mocking and harassing an employee? A housekeeper so far beneath his station she wasn’t worth noticing.
The woman called Caroline was sitting to his right, practically bending backwards to get his attention. She looked like his type: beautiful, wealthy, elegant. You could sense her infatuation from across the room. There was a desperate quality to her wide-eyed stare that made me feel sorry for her. He isn’t worth it, trust me, I wanted to scream. Every time she spoke to him, she touched him: his forearm, his hand, his shoulder. I watched him stiffen, flinch subtly, and I was glad for his discomfort.
“Caroline, I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve lost so much weight since I saw you at the Fashion Council Awards in New York.” Paisley’s irritating voice, with her pronounced disingenuous sweetness, pierced my anger for a brief moment. Seated a few chairs down from them, her eyes were fixed on Caroline and Sebastian all throughout dinner––lying in wait for the right moment to attack apparently.
Caroline blushed and blinked before finding her voice. “Thanks, Paisley, but I haven’t lost any weight.”
